"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games! The first ever twelve-year-old victor, Rue Clark! I give you- the female tribute of District Eleven!" And they're playing the applause from the Capitol, and the Anthem, and everything is around me and surrounding me, but all I can think of is the body lying there by the lake. My ally and best friend. My last opponent. Katniss Everdeen.

I awake with a bolt. Another nightmare. Another sleepless night. So many of these have passed since I left the Arena that I've long since lost count. Probably the number lies somewhere in the hundreds by now. I don't try going back to sleep. I know if I do that the nightmares will just come back. It's better to stay awake then to face that dream again. It isn't always that one. Sometimes I dream that I shoved the nightlock into Katniss's mouth. Once I dreamed that Katniss's little sister, Prim, came and buried me with a shovel. I shiver and pull my robe closer around my body. Leaning out the window, I try to remember life before the Arena. Try to remember the empty bellies and the long work hours. But I can't. The Arena has changed all that. My mother says I've grown-up, but that isn't true. I'm just scared for life. And it isn't the kind of scar that heals quickly. I don't know when it will heal. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

I expect the latter.

~...~…~

When I come down for breakfast, my mother eyes me suspiciously. It's pretty obvious I haven't slept. But she doesn't say anything, because the Littles (my younger brothers and sisters) are here for breakfast too. Mom and I have already worked out a system that's pretty easy to follow. We just don't talk about it. We don't want the Littles to be scared. Actually, that isn't true. What is true is that Mom and I have grown way far apart since I came back. I don't need her anymore. At least, not as much as I used to. And since the Arena was what made me so… 'Independent', Mom thinks that not talking about it will make my 'independantness' go away. She's wrong, but I go along with it because I hate to see her sad. So I do what I can to make her happy.

I smile as Bell, my youngest sister, crawls in. I pick her up and set her in my lap. She snuggles into my shoulder. I kiss her head and turn my attention to my mother.

"Anything I can do?" I ask her as freely as possible, trying to keep the polite stiffness out of my voice. They may be young, but the Littles catch everything. She smiles at me.

"Yes, actually. If you could scramble the eggs, that would be great." She suggests, all formal. Only it's more like a command. But I nod and go to the frying pan, one of the huge luxuries that came with my victory house. I like the largeness of the house, and the beauty and the technology, but it feels empty and cold, even when people and warmth are in it.

Long story short, I hate it.

But only I know that. I don't want to sound ungrateful. After all there is so much to be grateful for.

You don't know how weird that sounds.

~…~…~